Toward that sweet city where the Virgin mild <br />Brought forth her Child <br />Fain would I turn upon this Christmas day, <br />And softly pray <br /> <br />That I might see the place wherein he slept, <br />While Mary kept <br />Her watch and ward about His sacred bed, <br />And kissed His head; <br /> <br />And I would pray that I might see His face <br />In that poor place, <br />And be a shepherd or a worshipper, <br />Bringing my myrrh <br /> <br />Unto the little Babe who is my King-- <br />Heaven's offering; <br />Bringing my frankincense and all the gold <br />That earth doth hold. <br /> <br />And I would kiss the crib wherein He is, <br />And I would kiss <br />The little swaddling-clothes that wrap his form <br />Safe, safe and warm. <br /> <br />O little city far beyond the sea! <br />'Tis not for me <br />To journey unto you. Here must I bide <br />This Christmas-tide. <br /> <br />Hush! tho' wide wastes divide us, still near me <br />Your walls may be, <br />And I can dream of you, and shut mine eyes <br />And see arise <br /> <br />The little manger-bed where once He lay <br />So far away. <br />And I can love Him just the same as tho' <br />Across the snow <br /> <br />I came toward you on that first Christmas night, <br />Led by love's light, <br />And laid my gifts before Him. Now, as then, <br />With those wise men, <br /> <br />I too can journey o'er the midnight hill, <br />Weary, until <br />I worship Him and feel Him at my side <br />This Christmas-tide.<br /><br />Charles Hanson Towne<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/toward-bethlehem/
